Love You More (Tessa Leoni, #1)(85)

She’d taken his cellphone, but not his sidearm, which was good news for the fugitive recovery team, and probably a narrow escape from death for Fiske (a second pint of whiskey, probably tomorrow night). Tessa was last seen in an unzippered black BPD jacket, and a thin orange jumpsuit. On foot, no supplies, no hat or gloves, and in the middle of nowhere to boot, no one expected the woman to get far.

Adrenaline would carry her over the first mile or two, but soft snowfall made for exhaustive running, while providing a trail a blind man could follow.

Fugitive recovery team geared up, headed out. An hour of daylight left. They expected it to be enough, but were armed with searchlights in case it was not. Twenty officers against one desperate escapee.

They would get the job done, the lead officer had promised D.D. No child killer would be running on his watch.

D.D.’s turn to be shamefaced, but no pint of whiskey for her later tonight. Just another crime scene to process and a taskforce to debrief and a boss to update, who was probably going to be very unhappy with her, which was okay, because currently, she was very unhappy with herself, as well.

So she did what she always did: headed back to the scene of the crime, with Bobby at her side.

The ME had his staff on-site, suited up and delicately depositing body parts into red-marked biohazard bags. Evidence techs followed in their wake, collecting other detritus, which hopefully included pieces of the incendiary device. Not too hard to rig homemade explosives in this day and age. Took about ten minutes on the Internet and a quick trip to the local hardware store. Tessa was a bright woman. Assemble a couple of pressure-sensitive devices, then place them in the snowy hollow with the body. Cover and wait.

Dogs and police arrive. Tessa retreats. Bombs go ka-boom. Her guard goes Say What? And Tessa seizes the opportunity to take down a fellow officer and hit the road.

Hello, injured search party. Goodbye, BPD.

As far as D.D. was concerned, each piece of evidence now recovered was another nail in Tessa Leoni’s coffin, and she wanted them all. She wanted them all.

Ben looked up at Bobby and D.D.’s approach. He handed over his bag to one of his assistants, then crossed to them.

“Well?” D.D. asked immediately.

The ME, mid-forties, stoutly built, with buzz-cut steel gray hair, hesitated. He crossed his arms over his burly chest. “We have recovered organic matter and bone consistent with a body,” he granted.

“Sophie Leoni?”

In answer, the ME held out his gloved hand, revealing a slender fragment of white bone, approximately two inches long and smeared with dirt and bits of leaves. “Rib bone segment,” he said. “Full length would be consistent with a six-year-old.”

D.D. swallowed, forced herself to briskly nod her head. Bone was smaller than she would’ve imagined. Impossibly delicate.

“Found a clothing tag, size 6T,” Ben continued. “Fabric remnants are mostly pink. Also consistent with a female child.”

D.D. nodded again, still eyeing the rib bone.

Ben moved it to one side of his palm, revealing a smaller, corn-sized kernel. “Tooth. Also consistent with a prepubescent girl. Except … no root.” The ME sounded puzzled. “Generally when you recover a tooth from remains, the root is still attached. Unless, it was already loose.” The ME seemed to be talking more to himself than to D.D. and Bobby. “Which I suppose would be right for a first-grader. A loose tooth, coupled with the force of the blast … Yes, I could see that.”

“So the tooth most likely came from Sophie Leoni?” D.D. pressed.

“Tooth most likely came from a prepubescent girl,” Ben corrected. “Best I can say at this time. I need to get the remains back to my lab. Dental X-ray would be most helpful, though we have yet to recover a skull or jawbone. Bit of work still to be done.”

In other words, D.D. thought, Tessa Leoni had rigged an explosive powerful enough to blow a tooth right out of her daughter’s skull.

A flake of snow drifted down, followed by another, then another.

They all peered up at the sky, where the looming gray snow clouds had finally arrived.

“Tarp,” Ben said immediately, hurrying toward his assistant. “Protect the remains, now, now, now.”

Ben rushed away. D.D. retreated from the clearing, ducking behind a particularly dense bush, where she leaned over and promptly dry-heaved.

What had Tessa said? The love D.D. currently felt for her unborn child was nothing compared to the love she’d feel a year from now, or a year after that or a year after that. Six years of that love. Six years …

How could a woman … How could a mother …

How did you tuck in your child one moment, then search out the perfect place to bury her the next? How did you hug your six-year-old good night, then rig her body with explosives?

I love my daughter, Tessa said. I love my daughter.

What a f*cking bitch.

D.D. dry-heaved again. Bobby was beside her. She felt him draw her hair back from her cheeks. He handed her a bottle of water. She used it to rinse her mouth, then turned her flushed face to the sky, trying to feel the snow upon her cheeks.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you to the car. Time for a little rest, D.D. It’s going to be okay. Really. It will be.”

He took her hand, pulling her through the woods. She trod dispiritedly behind him, thinking that he was a liar. That once you saw the body of a little girl blow up in front of your eyes, the world was never okay again.